'Twas the Night before Christmas,
and all through the House,
Not a Creature was stirring,
Not even a Mouse…

The lines of the classic holiday poem were running through June's head as she turned the heat to the burner off and then lifted the kettle, pouring some hot milk over the cocoa powder in her mug. Maybe it was because it was Christmas Eve that she just couldn't escape thinking about the rhyme.

Maybe it was because she had read it several times that evening to her grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

Or maybe, with said children tucked in for the night – and warned to stay that way or risk Santa's ire – the poem was just apt because the house was now so quiet, despite the extra guests. And with the parents off at a Christmas party, it was almost as though she had the house to herself.

She stirred the cocoa, watching the milk take on a deliciously soft brown hue, and then she added a generous splash of peppermint schnapps. Medicinal, of course.

Carrying her mug, and breathing in the heavenly mint-chocolate scent, June made her way to the small room she considered her office on the second floor. She didn't use it much – mainly to pay the handful of bills that weren't on auto-pay, or to work on assignments for the various charitable committees she volunteered for. But the room held another purpose – it was hers. From her oldest daughter to her youngest great-grandson, they all understood that this room was off limits. She kept another computer downstairs in the parlor that had all of the games and social media applications the others could use. But the laptop in the office was strictly for her use.

She locked the door, sat down at the roll-top desk, and powered up the computer – surprised at how nervous she was. Her fingers brushed against the note that had led to this late-night session, and as she waited for the boot-up process to complete, she considered those circumstances.

It all dated back three months of course, to the day that Neal Caffrey… Well, to that day.

The best of times, the worst of times…

She knew she'd never forget the look of absolute devastation on Peter Burke's face when he came to her door that day. Admittedly, she'd taken issue with the agent from time to time over the years, in particular the times when it seemed that the young man she'd certainly adopted in her heart was being mis-used by the Feds, or let down by the man he called friend.

None of that had mattered at the moment, of course, as she admitted Peter into her home, listened to his halting words as he told her not to expect her boarder to come home that – or any – night.

And she'd known of course – been proud of the fact that Neal had asked her to be his inside woman. Touched that he trusted her to control her reactions to the outside world, so as not to give away the secret. Confident in her ability to carry out the tasks she'd been given.

But the depth of Peter Burke's grief had been so profound, his certainty at the nightmare he had seen so convincing, that it had caused her pause. No plan was ever foolproof, even the best of the best could hit an unexpected variable that tipped the scale upside down. What if…

Those next few hours had passed in uncomfortable slowness as she waited for the all clear. And when it finally came shortly before midnight – just a brief "wrong number" message from an unknown number – she had finally let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

And she allowed herself a triple brandy before heading to bed.

The next contact was nearly a month later, well within the projected schedule. It came via a telemarketing message left on her cell phone, and it included a web site reference. The web site, in turn, consisted of exactly one page, which had an address in Paris.

The next day, she cleaned out the closet in the now-empty loft apartment. A few of the suits went to the same thrift shop she'd visited some four years earlier. And just look how that had turned out. She'd not only come back home with the suits, but also with a stranger in tow…

She wouldn't have had these last few years play out any other way.

This time, the thrift store had gotten its donation. And two large boxes were shipped to the Paris address.

Four days later the web site played an audio file of the song "Thank You for Being a Friend;" two days later it was offline for good.

The latest contact had come via messenger, accompanied by a selection of holiday goodies from The Greatest Cake. To the untrained eye, the card contained a rather silly poem that wouldn't raise any suspicions.

To June's eye, the card contained a message that needed to be deciphered. And if she'd gotten it right – which she had, of course – she'd soon be having a conversation.

It was two minutes until Christmas when she opened the Skype application, thankful for the lessons Samantha had given her. She was logged in and waiting, sipping her cocoa, as the clock began to gently toll the midnight hour.

The soft chime of the incoming contact set her pulse racing as she reached to connect.

"Hello, June."

The resolution of the laptop screen was a poor substitute for sitting across the table, sharing a cup of coffee, but it was still wonderful to see those blue eyes again. "Neal. How are you, darling?"

His smile seemed genuine, relaxed. "I'm well. How are you?"

"I'm doing so much better now that I can see you."

"Me too. I've missed you."

"You've been sorely missed here, Neal, by so many."

His smile disappeared, replaced by a look of concern. "June, you understand…"

"Of course I do. You did what you felt you must to protect us."

"I did. The Panthers wouldn't have taken the betrayal lightly."

"Understanding doesn't make your absence hurt any less," June said gently.

He nodded. "I know. I hope you haven't had too many problems."

"I haven't noticed anyone paying me undue attention, if that's what you mean."

"It is. I was hoping the plan was tight enough, that I hadn't missed anything."

"No, it was all too effective, darling." She paused. "Mozzie was inconsolable for weeks. And Peter… well, I never would have imagined seeing him so devastated."

Neal looked away from the camera for a moment, and it seemed as though he took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. "I didn't want to hurt anyone," he finally said, very softly. "But you know why it was necessary."

"I do," June assured him. "They had roles to play in ensuring that everyone believed you were dead."

"Exactly. You were the only one who knew."

"And I appreciate your trust and confidence in me."

The small smile appeared again on her screen. "Well, you were one of the first to show confidence in me, so it's only fair. But I am sorry you've had to lie to people now."

"I hope you'll be able to tell them soon."

"I'm working on a plan to contact Moz now. But Peter can't know until the case is fully closed. The slightest hint that I'm alive…"

"And we're in danger again," June finished.

"I wish there had been another way."

"Well, just know that you were loved, and you are missed. Your memorial service was quite lovely with all of the people who spoke."

"Thanks for arranging it." His smile turned sad again. "We always hurt the ones we love."

"Sometimes it seems that way. At least you'll have a chance to fix things."

"I hope I can, one of these days."

"And in the meantime, you're alone for the holidays."

He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at something she couldn't see, and then turned back. "I'm not actually alone."

"But is she family?"

"No. At least, not yet."

"Well, your family here is about to grow by one."

"How is Elizabeth? Have you talked to her?"

"I was at her baby shower two weeks ago. She's doing well, just the usual complaints of swollen ankles and being tired."

"I remember she was due in January, so not too much longer to wait."

"I think she's counting the days." June paused, not sure how he'd take the next bit of news. "They've decided on a name."

"Peter, Junior?"

"No. They're going to call him Neal."

The range of emotions that flashed over his face was impressive. But when he finally spoke, it was one whispered word. "Wow."

"As I said, you are missed, Neal."

"Well, since that name is being passed on, I suppose we should use my new name."

"What was your final choice?"

"Thomas Kinman."

"Thomas. That's a good, strong name."

He smiled again. "I hope it helps me be good and strong."

"Have you settled on a career plan then?"

"I have a couple of things in the works. Moz will probably be disappointed. But when I can finally reach out to Peter again, I think he'll be happy."

"I'll look forward to hearing more. I hope we'll be able to talk again."

"We shouldn't do this too often, but occasionally, yes. I'd like that."

"And you know, I've always found Paris so alluring in the springtime."

"Me too. I'll figure out a safe way to stay in contact so you can let me know your travel plans."

"I'll start planning next week, after the children leave." She paused, listening. "Speaking of, it sounds like they're home from the party."

"Time to go then. It was good to talk to you again, June."

"Oh, yes, I agree. Merry Christmas, Ne… Thomas."

"Merry Christmas, June."

The connection ended, even as June reached out to brush her fingers across the screen. So little time, and yet the contact had been so satisfying.

She shut the computer down and walked out into the hallway just as her daughters and their spouses came up the stairs. This was her focus now – time with her family here in New York.

And come spring, she'd spend some time with her family in Paris.

Oh, it was going to be a Merry Christmas indeed.

A/N: OK, so, I didn't *quite* get this posted by Christmas, but I'm going to consider that close counts in this context. After viewing the finale several times, I'm convinced that Neal would have needed an inside man - or an inside woman - to pull everything off. And he finds the perfect accomplice in June. The two of them finally reconnect here in the virtual world. Now to just figure out how the reunions with Mozzie and Peter might work...